You Make Me Worry
by IrishFrenchy
Summary: I really wrote this for the pilot. Keep that in mind. John worries about Sherlock because he cares. After all, someone needs to do it. Sherlock never seems to notice how John looks at him, though. For an incredibly intelligent man, he can be so unobservant at times. I wrote a sequel to this, it's called It's Elementary, My Dear Idiot. You should read it... Tehe. Johnlock


John had arrived home to this flat a little after noon. He had been out on errands. His arm was sore from a flu shot he had gotten and he was careful to pick up the paper grocery bag as he got out of the cab.

The moment he walked through flat door a sigh of relief escaped his lips, and he pushed it closed with an elbow. He was finally home. For a Saturday, it had been quite hectic. All he wanted to do was relax and sit down with a good book. With a grunt, he put the groceries down on the kitchen table. In the next room over, he could hear Sherlock picking away on his violin. The noise that emanated from it was enough to drive a man to drink. John just shook his head as he walked into the living room, taking his coat off on the way. His roommate sat in his old chair, playing stale notes on the poor piece of wood and strings, his eyes on the far wall. John knew he was fussing over something, his mind was obviously elsewhere. He always puckered his lips and drew his eyebrows together when he was upset. It was a dead giveaway.

"Hello," John said with a smile. Sherlock jumped a bit, having not noticed the man enter the room. He sighed and touched his temple. John went to hang up his jacket as Sherlock laid his violin down onto the coffee table. "Good afternoon," he said, failing to meet John's eyes. The blonde doctor smiled softly and shook his head. Something was bothering Sherlock but he didn't want to bother him and ask what it was. He knew from experience that if Sherlock wanted to say something, he eventually would come out with it. The doctor watched his friend, eyebrows drawn together. "I was going to make some coffee. Do you want something, tea maybe?" Sherlock looked over at his friend and nodded gratefully. "I'll have a cup of tea. Thank you, John."

A few minutes later John and Sherlock stood in the kitchen together, leaning against the counter. John handed his friend a cup with an earl gray tea bag and Sherlock smiled softly. "Thanks," he said. John nodded and took a sip of his coffee. "How was your day?" he asked finally, trying to start conversation. Perhaps Sherlock would tell him what was wrong if he tried to brush the subject…

"Eh… Alright," Sherlock answered. John was surprised at how quiet the detective was. He was _never _quiet, he was often quite the opposite. He always had something to say about everything.

John took another sip of his coffee as he watched Sherlock make his tea. He was so meticulous and methodic about the way he went about doing things. John almost couldn't watch him; it made him want to ask questions, especially about why he did certain things. He watched him put two sugars into his tea, stirring it slowly. Sherlock sighed and laid his spoon down next to his cup.

For the first time, John saw the dark circles beneath his eyes, how his cheeks were sunk in. His skin was a pale color, paler than usual. Sherlock was exhausted, no doubt from all the stress he was under. They had just finished up a hard case the previous week and it seemed Sherlock was still feeling the effects.

Sherlock didn't notice John's eyes on him; in fact, he was quite oblivious to it. He took a sip of his warm tea. John couldn't help but notice how his hand shook as he lifted the old china mug to his lips. With a heavy sigh, he went to answer the phone as it began to ring loudly. His shoulder brushed John's as he stepped past him. The artificial noise filled the entire kitchen before Sherlock picked it up. "Hello," he said in the receiver. "Holmes speaking." John heard garble on the other end and Sherlock hung it up, back on the dock. "People trying to sell credit cards. Ridiculous…" Sherlock said, trailing off as he shook his head.

John didn't know why he did it, but he walked over to Sherlock, getting close to him. The dark, curly haired man raised his eyes at the good doctor. "What are you…" He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, as the phone rang again. He reached over and grabbed the clunky object, putting it to his ear. "Holmes," he said. John watched him as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. "Okay," he said after a few seconds. There was more garble, and the tone sounded deep, masculine.

John's eyes trailed to Sherlock's lips. They were soft looking, a light pink color. His face was recently shaved, his hair perfectly curly and combed to the side, and his eyes were bright, full of life. John had fallen in love with Sherlock, though he wasn't willing to admit it to anyone other than himself. It was hard enough to even admit it to himself, never mind tell anyone. It was something he couldn't explain. All his life, he had never been homosexual but this man, this man changed everything. This man made his world spin off kilter. He stole his heart and that was a secret he found hard to keep.

As Sherlock hung up the phone, he looked back over at John. "We have a case," he said happily, smirking. Their close proximity neither bothered nor confused the man, and it surprised John the most. "A woman has been murdered and was found an hour ago, under the bridge. A fisherman found her," Sherlock informed his friend. He made to walk away but John stopped him. "The case can wait," he said softly and licked his lips. He reached out and got Sherlock by the arm, his grip soft.

Sherlock looked down at John's hand and back up to meet the man's gaze. "I'm worried about you," John confessed. "Maybe you shouldn't take this case. I think you need a… break. You're too stressed." He noticed the dark, bruised looking skin under Sherlock's eyes again, and frowned. The taller man merely shook his head. "I'm fine, John." With a sigh, John shook his head back. "You can lie to anyone and make it look good," John started. "But, not me. I know you too well and you forget that, sometimes."

Sherlock leaned in and stole a quick kiss on the lips from John. "I'm alright, as long as you're at my side." John watched him, unsure of whether he was dreaming or not. If he wouldn't have looked so idiotic, he would have pinched himself. "Come on," Sherlock said, nearly whispering. His expression was soft, tender almost. He pulled John with him, the doctor's mind still reeling.

Sherlock had just kissed him. Did that mean he… No, that was a crazy idea and John wouldn't even question it. Sherlock smiled to himself as they left the flat together.


End file.
